“Inspector Eliza,” I corrected him, my voice unyielding. “This isn’t about you not realizing. This is about a culture of neglect that’s been allowed to thrive under your watch.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but I raised a hand, silencing him. The room was charged with an electricity, a shift in power that everyone present could feel. The nurses exchanged glances, silently communicating a mixture of relief and vindication.

From the corner of my eye, I watched as my mother’s chest rose and fell with labored breaths. Time was of the essence. This confrontation, while necessary, was a detour from the immediate care she needed. I turned to the nurse who had been assisting Dr. Patrick, her face a mask of uncertainty.